Realism: Breaking Clichés
by Shadow Rebirth
Summary: A collection of one-shots that show how different situations could occur in the real world, rather than the clichéd world of fanfiction. Warning! Parody ahead.
1. Chapter 1: Animagus

A/N: Warning: this is completely and utterly random. But it _could_ happen. Which is what makes it hilarious (**grins**) I really just couldn't help writing it once I'd gotten the idea into my head, and indeed it's what sparked the idea for this entire story/collection. Please read, review, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This work has not been endorsed by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Publishing, Warner Bros., or any of the others holding copyright or license to the Harry Potter books, movies, and products. No connection is implied or should be inferred. Other names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author receives no financial gain from its production or distribution.

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Realism: Breaking Clichés

Chapter 1  
_Animagus_

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Harry was excited. No, not even excited--he was _ecstatic_.

Finally, after so long, he was going to get his animagus form. He'd done so much research and preparation solely for this moment. He'd purchased numerous books on the subject and had carefully planned out what he'd need to do.

He'd had to brew the potion to get himself ready fort he transformation all by himself. He'd secretly bought the ingredients and then spent months carefully and secretly brewing it. He'd put every ounce of his being into this project.

Harry's hands shook as raised a small vial of liquid up to his eyelevel. This was it. _This was it_. Once he had his animagus form he'd be able to take down Voldemort and all his Death Eaters. All he had to do was down this small dose of potion and he'd be able to transform.

Harry spent a moment dreaming about what type of creature he'd become. Maybe a phoenix, or a massive dragon, or even a basilisk. Or, if not a magical creature, perhaps a wolf or some sort of a bird of prey. Oh the things he'd be able to do...

Harry's eyes dropped down to the vial once more. Well, there was only one way to find out what he'd become.

In one smooth motion Harry brought the glass vial to his lips and gulped down the thick potion.

For a moment nothing happened. Then, abruptly, the world around him seemed to shift. Harry felt no pain but the sound of bones grinding filled the air. Harry clenched his eyes closed tightly to ward of the strange sensation that he was filled with and waited. Finally, all motion seemed to stop. Harry waited for another moment then, twitching slightly at the feeling of being in a body other than his own.

Eventually Harry got the nerve to open his eyes. He blinked a few times, slightly bewildered by how different the things around him looked. Finally Harry turned his head to look into the large standing mirror that he'd placed in the room just for this occurrence.

And promptly froze.

Harry'd hoped to have some sort of an awesome, kickass animagus form. Even something more mundane than a magical animal would have done. But this? _Seriously_?

"I'M A FLAMINGO?!"


	2. Chapter 2: Super Trunk

A/N: The plotline with that super-trunk that Harry trains in is so overused it's not even funny. And thus it begs to be made fun of. Poor, poor Harry. (**smirks**) Please read, review, and enjoy!

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Realism: Breaking Clichés

Chapter 2  
_Super Trunk_

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Harry hummed happily as he stepped into the trunk shop on Diagon Alley. It was the summer before his fifth year and, now that he knew that Voldemort was back, he decided to start taking his training seriously. And of course, for in order for one to train, they must have supplies.

"How may I help you, young man?" the shopkeeper asked jovially.

"I need a new trunk, one with good security."

"Any other special features you're looking for?"

Harry grinned. He could remember quite clearly the special 7-level trunk that Professor Moody--or rather, Crouch Jr.--had had. Something like that would be absolutely perfect for him. Plus, having a super trunk like that would be just plain awesome.

"Yes, actually," Harry replied. "Do you have any trunk with multiple compartments? In particular compartments that are large enough to be used as rooms that people can stand up in."

"Ah, yes, actually," the shopkeeper replied. If he was surprised by the teenager's extravagant request he hid it very well. "I got one in the back of the story. It's been around for years since no one really has a need for that sort of thing..."

The man continued to chat about the trunk's features as he led Harry to the back of the store. Once he'd pulled out the trunk--which looked surprisingly clean and new, despite its age--he proceeded to open it and show Harry what it looked like on the inside.

The trunk had five compartments that opened when you unlocked their particular lock. It was small than Moody's, yes, but three of the compartments were large rooms while the other two were the size of a normal trunk. Harry grinned widely; this was exactly what he needed!

"I'll take it!" Harry declared almost instantly. "How much?"

"Seventeen galleons even," the shopkeeper answered. Harry gave him the money, picked up the trunk, and then quickly left the store so that he could continue with he shopping.

Once Harry was gone the shopkeeper stared thoughtfully at the door. "I wonder if I should have told the kid that if he stayed in the trunk for prolonged periods of time without ventilation charms on the compartments, he'd eventually run out of air and suffocate?" he mused. "...Nah, he can't be _that_ stupid."

When the Order of the Phoenix arrived to pick Harry up that summer, all that they could find of him was a shiny, new-looking trunk.


	3. Chapter 3: Runaway

A/N: And yet another one. This one in particular is about the plots where Harry runs from the Dursleys sometime after his 4th-6th year. Don't get me wrong, I love stories where Harry has the balls to take his life into his own hands and run away from the Dursleys, _but_ running away has consequences and this one-shot details one of those possibilities. Please read, review, and enjoy!

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Realism: Breaking Clichés

Chapter 3  
_Runaway_

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_Thump thump-thump_

All that Harry could hear was his heartbeat. It resonated loudly in his hears and drowned out all other sounds.

_Thump thump-thump_

He was surprised that no one else could hear it. He waited, straining his ears, but never heard the sound of his uncle yelling for him to shut up. In fact no one even stirred.

_Thump thump-thump_

Slowly, Harry's hand inched towards the doorknob in front of him and began to turn it. If he made no noise at all he might be able to get away with this. If he could just get out without his relatives noticing...

_Thump thump-thump_

With a click that seemed as loud as breaking glass, the door finally opened. Harry froze, _sure_ that his relatives had heard that, but no one came. Finally, after several minutes, Harry relaxed with a sigh and completely opened the door.

As soon as the door was open, Harry's face was hit with a blast of refreshingly cold air. Harry reveled in the sensation for a moment, allowing his eyes to languidly rove over the view of Privet Drive that he had from the front door.

Freedom at last.

Harry reached down and picked up the small duffle bag that was resting next to him. In it were all of his valuables, from his clothing, to his textbooks, to his invisibility cloak. His wand was tucked away comfortably in his pocket.

The scene was exactly as it looked: Harry was running away. He'd had enough of the Dursleys and after having found out about the Prophecy only a few weeks ago, he'd decided to take his life into his owns hands. No longer would he be strapped down by Dumbledore's wishes. He'd make his own way into the world and destroy Voldemort.

A smile curling at the edges of his lips, Harry quickly darted out the doorway and down the Dursely's front lawn. He paused for a moment at the edge of the street, longing to call the Knight Bus, but knowing better than to do so. Instead he began to quietly trot down Privet Drive. There was a train station only a few miles away, on the edge of Little Whinging, that he could use to get to London. It was too bad that he didn't know how to Apparate yet.

As Harry strode briskly down the sidewalk, he began to feel a prickling feeling running down the back of his neck. He recognized it almost instantly as apprehension. Harry hesitated for a moment, but then shrugged the feeling off. Doubtless it was because he was running away for the first time in his life.

Just moments later, however, Harry found ignoring his instincts to be the biggest mistake he'd ever made.

"Accio wand."

Instantly, Harry's wand shot out of his pocket and away from him. Shocked, Harry quickly wheeled around and attempted to grasp his wand. He missed by mere inches and instead stumbled forward, off balance, and crashed to the ground.

The dread that was beginning to well up within Harry intensified exponentially at the sound of cold, high-pitched laughter. More terrified than he'd ever been in his life, Harry slowly raised his head from were he was lying spread eagle on the ground. The sight that met his eyes was not something that he'd wanted to see.

Voldemort was standing above him in all his black robed glory. His red eyes glinted brightly even in the night and a cruel smirk was spread out over his face. The worst part, however, was that Harry's wand was held almost lazily between two of his fingers.

As Harry gulped deeply at the intimidating sight, Voldemort let out another chuckle. "Hello, Potter," he said finally. "Sneaking out are we?" Voldemort mockingly waggled a finger at Harry. "What a bad boy. Did you really think that Dumbledore had you staying with those filthy muggles for no reason? Did you really think that I hadn't long since figured out where you lived? I got _that_ information from my spies in the Ministry long ago. There only reason I couldn't reach you is because of those thrice-damned wards." Voldemort paused for a moment, allowing the scowl that had come to his face to melt away into another smirk. "But you've helped me out in that department, haven't you? You even went to the trouble to run away when that fool Mundungus was on your guard duty."

As Voldemort calmly raised his own wand Harry's mind was completely saturated with fear. He alone and disarmed facing Voldemort. _Voldemort_. Perhaps running away hadn't been the best idea.

The self-proclaimed Dark Lord seemed to sense what Harry was thinking as he let out another bout of laughter. Harry desperately attempted to scramble to his feet, but the pinprick of green light gathering at the end of Voldemort's wand told him that it was already too late.

"Avada Kedavra!"

_Shit_.


	4. Chapter 4: The Troll Incident

A/N: For once, this one-shot isn't picking at fanfics, but at canon (**gasps**) Sorry, but I just couldn't pass this opportunity up. The first book is just filled with so many plot holes, unless you assume that Dumbledore is an _incredibly_ manipulative bastard who cares for no one but himself, which the later books (the last one in particular) tend to dissuade. Hmm, because I like how this one turned out, I just might have to do another canon-based chapter...

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Realism: Breaking Clichés

Chapter 4  
_The Troll Incident_

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When Professor Quirrell had come running into the Great Hall during the Halloween feast Albus Dumbledore had been shocked and perplexed, and rightfully so. This came, of course, from the fact that a mountain troll had managed to get into the school. The shock might not have been so great had he not known that there were wards surrounding that castle to prevent such an occurrence. Naturally he immediately suspected foul play, but he would be unable to look into it for several weeks due to the chaos that would follow during the next few days.

Following this Quirrell's fainting session, Dumbledore quickly instructed the students to head back to their dormitories. It showed just how flustered he was that he didn't realize until later that night that the Slytherin dorms were in the dungeons. Right where Quirrell had said the troll was.

The next ten minutes were spent desperately searching the school for the troll before he finally came to his senses enough to use a simple point-me spell. Instantly several teachers hurried off in the direction the spell had told them to go. As he struggled to keep up with his much younger staff members Dumbledore cursed both his old age and the Apparition wards covering the castle.

Due to his age, Dumbledore was unable to arrive at the location of the troll--a girl's bathroom, strangely enough--until the situation had already been dealt with. By two first years, much to his shock. Still, the shock wasn't enough to cover his relief that the three Gryffindor's involved with the incident were safe and that the troll had been taken care of.

It was too bad that that relief wouldn't last for very long.

Following the incident, students obviously owled their parents, telling them about what had happened. It wasn't even breakfast the next morning when the first reporter arrived and the following hour would only bring more until dozens from all over the country--and even some from out of the country!--were there. By that afternoon the entire world would know about the troll incident.

It was nightmare. Suddenly everyone was questioning just how safe the school was. After all, if a mountain troll--which was widely believed to be among the least intelligent creatures in existence--could get into the school, then what else could? Over the following weeks no less than two dozen students would get pulled from Hogwarts, including Hermione Granger, the girl who'd been involved in the incident. He'd had high hopes for her to become the brightest witch of her generation, but now it was doubtful that she'd ever finish her wizarding education in _any_ country. Not that he could blame Mr. and Mrs. Granger; after all, what parents in their right mind would keep their child enrolled in a school where they'd nearly died due to lack of security.

Of course immediately following the troll incident Dumbledore had checked the wards surrounding the school. Once it became apparent that they'd been tampered with, the old Headmaster knew that someone had purposefully let the troll into the school.

There was only one suspect that he had in mind.

Professor Quirenius Quirrell had been on his teaching staff for several years. He'd always been a level-headed man, or at least he had been until he'd come back that summer a stuttering mess. He'd brushed it off at first, believing that some skirmish had happened and that the man would get over it soon enough. Following this incident however...Well, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Using the cover of a staff meeting, Dumbledore led Quirrell into a previously warded room. As soon as they stepped inside Dumbledore bound the man, took his wand, and then proceeded to use Legilimency to find out if the man had been behind the troll incident.

What he found was a hundred times worse. Fortunately any sort of a duel with Quirrell and the Dark Lord residing the back of his head was averted because the possessed man no longer had his wand. Unfortunately, Voldemort was able to escape by detaching his spirit from Quirrell. And because this detachment instantly killed Quirrell, Dumbledore found himself unable to question the professor.

Now Dumbledore was faces with two options, neither of which were desirable.

One, he could report to the Ministry of Magic about what had happened. And thus be declared barmy for saying that Voldemort was still alive and have his credibility completely destroyed.

Two, he could try to hide what happened. Only, if he did this an investigation would be launched into the disappearance of Professor Quirrell. This would be fine, if only he hadn't been seen leading Quirrell away only just a few minutes ago. Dumbledore had no doubt that Quirrell's body would be found and he'd be declared a murderer, or something along those lines.

There were, perhaps, a few ways to wriggle his way out of this situation, but in any case at least a part of his reputation would be destroyed. Dumbledore let out a sigh. So far this year had been a complete and utter disaster.

And it wasn't even Christmas yet.


	5. Chapter 5: Fresh Water Squid

A/N: This is yet another canon examining chapter. This one was inspired by the second chapter of _Searching for Disaster_--a new story of mine--in which at one point Harry has a small inner rant about Hogwarts' giant squid. For those of you who haven't read it, Searching for Disaster is a story featuring a very cynical Harry and a realistic tilt on the HP universe like that found in chapter four of this story. Though, granted, perhaps not quite to that extreme.

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Realism: Breaking Clichés

Chapter 5  
_Fresh Water Squid_

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The warm afternoon sun beat down of the hills around Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Numerous students were lounging around the banks of the lake, soaking up the nice weather during their afternoon off.

Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were two of these students. They lay side by side on a small, grassy knoll overlooking the lake while waiting for Ron to join them. As they watched on the giant squid's tentacles broke the surface of the lake and began to trail lazily along the water.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry said suddenly. "Don't squid usually live in salt water?"

Instantly Hermione froze, a shocked look coming over her face. "I-- Er, uh...Yes?"

"So then how can this one survive here?"

"...Umm, maybe the lake is salt water?"

Harry frowned. "No, I remember from when I had to dive into it during the Triwizard tournament that it's fresh water."

"Uh, well then, perhaps...Magic?"

Harry's frown deepened. "But...Magic can't change the innate essence of living things, right?" he replied. "So it still wouldn't be able to survive."

Hermione's mouth opened and closed several times as she struggled to find some other excuse for the existent of the squid. Finally, when nothing came, she let out a sigh and shrugged.

"It's special."

Harry gave his brown haired friend a strange stare, his brow furrowed in confusion. "But--"

"Harry," Hermione interrupted, "It's special. Just leave it at that. Please, for the sake of our sanity, just leave it at that."


	6. Chapter 6: Parsletongue

A/N: This chapter was particularly fun to write, mainly because it addresses an over-used plot that has never quite made sense to me. Oh, and I should also mention that while I have a bunch of ideas for chapters if anyone has any ideas/clichés that they'd like to see addressed, please let me know! Please review!

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Realism: Breaking Clichés

Chapter 6  
_Parsletongue_

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Harry dropped heavily into a seat in the library, exhaustion clear on his features. Surprised, Hermione glanced up from the book that she'd been buried in. Her expression quickly changed to concern once she saw her friend's state.

"Harry? Are you alright? And...Why are you covered in dust?"

Harry groaned and dropped his head into his arms. "I spent all afternoon in the Chamber of Secrets," he said, his words slightly muffled. "I was looking to see if I could find a secret library belonging to Salazar Slytherin. It's supposed to be the Chamber of Secret_s_ after all, right?"

Hermione stared at him. "And _why_ exactly are you looking for a 'secret library' that belonged to an _evil dark wizard_?"

"Written Parsletongue."

"...Written Parsletongue?"

"Written Parsletongue."

"...What?"

"Well, I figure that since Parsletongue is a langue it's got to have a written form too," Harry elaborated. "I'm sure that Slytherin has a whole collection of books written in Parsletongue so that no one else can read them. There are probably a bunch of spells that can only be spoken in Parsletongue too! This could be the edge that I need to defeat Voldemort!"

Hermione couldn't help: She just continued to stare blankly. When Harry started to fidget uncomfortably she finally let out an exasperated sigh.

"Harry," she began patiently, "Where did hear about written Parsletongue?"

"Um...Nowhere? It just makes perfect sense!"

"...No, Harry, it doesn't. It fact, it's entirely impossible. Think about it, how--and _why_, for that matter--could snakes have a written language if they can't write?"

"Well wizards--"

"If a wizard had created a written form of Parsletongue," Hermione interrupted, "Then it would just be a secret code for them. It wouldn't be passed along through genetics like spoken Parsletongue is. And besides, if it really did exist then you'd already know it instinctively; you wouldn't have to go searching for it in some 'secret library'--which, by the way, is also something that you just randomly came up with."

"But--"

"No, Harry. Just no."


End file.
